Dark of the Moon
by Bianca tabbycat
Summary: Hermione skipped through the grass,performing the dance steps she had learnt as a child. She finished the whole sequence with a curtsey for her imaginary audience – only not so imaginary when she heard applause. "Malfoy? What are you doing here?" Drabble.


_A/N: In this fic, the war is already over, all of the Golden Trio have returned for their 7__th__ year, and no, Draco is not Head Boy, surprisingly._

**Dark of the Moon**

_Disclaimer: The clock on the mantelpiece could tick till the end of time, but even then, Harry Potter and its characters still wouldn't belong to me._

_Summary: Hermione skipped lightly through the dewy grass, spinning and twirling as she recalled the dance steps she had learnt as a child years ago. She finished the whole sequence with a curtsey for her imaginary audience – only not so imaginary when she heard a lone person clapping. "Malfoy? What are you doing here?"_

_*Dark of the Moon*_

"_Harry and Ron could be so infuriating sometimes_," Hermione huffed mentally to herself as she stalked through the deserted stone hallways of Hogwarts. "_I mean, what's wrong with liking books? All of Ron's snide little comments: 'Are you going to the library _again_, Hermione?'" _she mocked, rolling her eyes. _"Or: 'Wow, I just can't _believe_ you spent the whole day _reading_. Really, you should be outdoors more often.' Haven't that git noticed I am always in the stands when the pair of them practice Quidditch? That I try to read outside if I could?"_

"_And Harry," _she continued her tirade, _"he's almost as bad. If he's not playing Quidditch or doing things related to school, he's off snogging Ginny. It's not really their fault, I suppose, what with the war finally being over and the need to 'celebrate' their renewed relationship and all, but can't he talk to his best friends too? It can't be that hard, can it? This is a _boarding school_, for Merlin's sake; we're around twenty-four seven and he still – can't – talk – to – us – for – more – than – five – frigging – minutes!"_

Hermione punctuated each word with a hard stomp, gritting her teeth regardless of the warnings her parents had always given her. She wasn't worried about being caught by Filch; she was Head Girl and thus had the right to wander around at night to her heart's content.

Having calmed down slightly, she walked around the castle aimlessly; she was too restless to just lie down and go to sleep. Besides, it was a Saturday tomorrow, and she could sleep in as long as she wanted.

After breaking up a few unsuspecting couples hidden in broom closets – _"couldn't they go kiss in the Room of Requirement or something?" – _Hermione's legs took her unconsciously to the Entrance Hall, facing the intricately carved wooden doors which leaded to freedom, an escape from all the stress of the NEWTs at the end of the school year.

The young woman hesitated just before the entrance, biting her lip as she stared at the wise, ageless beauty of Rowena Ravenclaw engraved in the ebony: should she go or should she not? Making up her mind quickly, she drew her wand from the pocket of her jeans – _not _the back one, thanks to Mad-Eye – and with a series of taps and a whispered password, the door swung open soundlessly, closing behind her as soon as she was clear.

Hermione stood at the top of the weathered marble steps, taking in deep lungfuls of the sweet, refreshing night air as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. It was only ever at Hogwarts that she could experience the air of the countryside; her house with her parents was in London, and all she smelt on the street were the exhaust fumes from the vehicles as they drove past.

She blinked; her eyes had now pretty much adapted to the dark. Hermione turned her face to the sky, and smiled when she liked what she saw. It was the dark of the moon, and with the glowing yellowish-white orb gone, the stars were all set to dazzle people with their brightness. The entire blanket of royal blue was dotted randomly with bright white specks, and Hermione marveled at their beauty. It was strange to think that stars as pretty as these were actually no more than huge burning balls of gas.

She started down the steps carefully, avoiding the wet patches from the storm earlier that day, and headed for her private studying spot – a hollow in the hillside, large enough for her to curl up comfortably and also to spread her parchments, set a short walk away from the Black Lake. There was also another student who used that place, she knew, because she always found little presents – a crimson and silver hair clip in the shape of a dragon which was currently in her hair, an expensive quill she had been longing after for ages, a well-drawn portrait of herself staring serenely at the waving tentacles of the squid, and even a bag to replace her old one after it spilt its seams. It may be silly to a normal person, the way she looked forward to her unexpected gifts from the mysterious present-giver, as well as the thrill of excitement when she saw the brightly-wrapped package tucked away under the alcove inconspicuously, but she had been flattered to have a person pay her so much attention.

Absentmindedly, Hermione skipped lightly through the dewy grass, spinning and twirling as she casted her mind back to the dance steps she had learnt as a child years ago. Though she was never the best in her lessons in spite of her best efforts, she especially liked this dance. Maybe it was something about the music and the steps; they were light, airy, like a bird flying freely in the air, and when she submerged herself in the exact angle she should face, the height of her limbs, the posture of her body, she could forget everything, and be oblivious to her very surroundings until the music came to an end.

Playing the last strands of the melody in her mind, Hermione held her final pose for the required three seconds before dropping into a graceful curtsey for her imaginary audience – only it was not so imaginary when the loud clapping alerted her to the presence of another human being. She turned in the direction of the sound, squinting at the silvery shade of hair paces away.

"Malfoy? What are you doing here?" Hermione tilted her head to the side as she contemplated the reasons the Slytherin would have for being out of the castle. She fell in step with him as he walked past her, staring at the gleaming surface of the lake which reflected the night sky. She no longer considered him an enemy, as she had for so long – he had been a spy for the Order and they had paired up for missions, after all – but yet, he was no close friend either. He had simply been there, silently making his own contribution to the cause.

Draco ignored her question. "I never knew you danced," he commented, eyes fixed straight ahead.

"Yes, well…" Hermione shrugged. "You never knew me that well, anyway."

He peeked at her out of the corner of his eye. "Do Potter and Weasley know about your talent?"

She frowned as she thought of the two males. "No, actually, it's kind of my little secret." She offered Draco a smile. "It's funny, that I'm out here because of them, and talking to you instead about my dancing."

"Why don't you tell them?" he asked, sounding confused; surely friends told each other everything?

"I'm afraid they'll laugh at me," Hermione confessed, hiding her face behind her hair. Well, there _was _a use for that bushy mane after all – though it was now more wavy than curly. "The very idea would be ridiculous – Hermione Granger, bookworm extraordinaire, a dancer?" She scoffed. "No one would believe it."

"I would," Draco offered. His eyes were trained on a cloud once more, determined not to meet the inquisitive chocolate eyes of the girl next to him lest he started blushing.

"Why, apart from the fact that you _have _seen me dance?"

"You have the figure for it. Not too skinny, like a beanstalk, but not too fat either. Perfect, with curves in all the right places…" He waved a hand towards Hermione's body, trailing off when he realized what he was doing, and his hand dropped limply to his side. He was so going to kill himself in the privacy of his dorm later.

Hermione blushed when he complimented her. She had a perfect figure? Never before had a person of the opposite sex told her something like that. She cleared her throat to fill the uncomfortable silence following his statement. "So," she began, "you still haven't told me why you were out here."

Draco heaved a sigh. And he thought he was doing so well at manipulating the conversation… "Do I _have_ to tell you?"

Hermione placed her hands on her hips, trying to imitate Mrs. Weasley's stern "don't you dare lie to me" look. "Yes, you do. If you don't, I'll…" She struggled to think of a suitable punishment which would affect the Slytherin most. "I'll… assign you detention with Filch!" She smiled triumphantly at the thought, not noticing the laughter her companion was fighting back. It was typical of Hermione to assign a _detention_, of all things; a normal girl would threaten to hex his family jewels off. But then again, he liked Hermione perfectly well the way she was, books, dancing, and all. She could even believe in – what were they called again? – Blibbering Humdingers for all he cared.

"Well?" She mock-scowled at him playfully. "I could curse your balls off if I want to, you know…"

Maybe he spoke – or rather, thought – too soon.

Draco fiddled with the unraveled piece of wool at the hem of his cashmere sweater, swearing when the sudden movement caused his notebook to slip from its place between his arm and his body. Before he could pick it up, however, Hermione swooped upon it like a vulture.

"So _this _is what you were doing?" Hermione smiled slightly at the cover, which was embedded with the Hogwarts crest. "Studying by the lake at this late hour?"

"Yes," Draco agreed quickly, snatching onto the excuse like a lifesaver. "That's what I was doing – studying. Yeah." He shifted around awkwardly, before holding his hand open. "May I have it back?"

"Oh! Of course." She returned the notebook. Strange, the anxious look on his face when she made to open it… Then again, there were probably all his private things written inside.

They continued their walk in silence, with Draco leading the way and Hermione following, a little ways behind. It was around five minutes or so before they came to a halt in front of the little hollow set in the steep slope, and Hermione spoke up.

"How do you know of this place? I thought I was the only one who came here," she asked Draco, with what was almost a suspicious tone in her voice.

He turned to her, an amused smile hovering on the corners of his lips. "Have you still not figured it out?" he asked. "And I thought you were the smartest witch of this generation."

Hermione bit her lip, focusing on _what_, precisely, did she need to figure out. _"_Think_, Hermione," _she urged herself. _"Who else apart from you knows where the hollow is?" _Her mind automatically thought of what she associated most with her studying spot. _"That's right… The gift-sender! But who in the name of Merlin could that be?" _Her hand drifted instinctively to brush her hair back from her face, only to encounter something cool to the touch.

"_What the…?" _Hermione detached the object from her tresses, which she was so used to that she often forgot it was there. It was a hair clip crafted skillfully from pure silver, encrusted with tiny rubies along the spine of the dragon, with emeralds replacing the creature's unblinking eyes. Dragon. _Draco_.

"You?" She gaped at the boy, otherwise known as her present-giver. Her mind was frozen, with only one word swirling in her mind over and over again: _why?_

"Because I love you," Draco replied simply, and Hermione realized she had asked her question out loud. "Even since my fourth year. I remembered being dazzled by you; how could you, a mere Muggleborn –" she noticed the absence of the usual _Mudblood_ – "Be more accomplished than us? And so it was because of you that I later began to doubt my father's beliefs. I thought of you often, spacing out during classes, but I thought that it would past, that it was only the shock of seeing you so beautiful.

"Time passed, and I started to notice little things: the way you'd bit your lip when you encounter something difficult, the habit you have of tapping your foot when you're exasperated, the times you'd blush whenever someone mentions sex. Only then did I know that I had fallen for you, little by little. I love every single little thing about you, Hermione Granger – your obsession for books, your bossiness, your naïveté towards mature contents, so to speak. And so I followed you, one day, and saw you come here to study. I left you gifts, and hoped to woo you that way; I was too frightened to ask you face to face.

"And yet, tonight, when you happened to come out when I was deciding if I should tell you or not… It seemed like a sign. It made me feel special to know that I was the only one in the whole of Hogwarts to know that you could dance – and not just dull ballroom dancing either – I knew that I had to tell you something in return."

He faced Hermione with a pleading look on his face. "I know that I would most probably not be good enough for you, but I only ask for you to give me a chance, to prove what I could be to you. Is that possible?"

Hermione looked at him with wide eyes, and shook her head. "No."

Draco's face fell quicker than you could say "heartbroken", a resigned sadness in his stormy grey eyes. "Right," he mumbled. "I… I should be going back." As he turned to make for the castle, a small but surprisingly firm hand caught him around the forearm.

"Mister," Hermione said sternly, "where _do _you think you're going?"

His heart skipped a beat; maybe not all was lost.

"What I meant by 'no', Draco… May I call you Draco?" He nodded wordlessly, and Hermione continued. "What I meant by 'no' is the fact that we can't have a relationship… Not yet, anyway. You may know me through and through, but what do I know about you? And in order for us to be boyfriend and girlfriend, we need to understand each other. We need to take it one step at a time, and that means becoming friends first. What do you say?" Hermione's grip on his arm loosened, and her hand made its way down, weaving her fingers through his.

A wide grin lit up Draco's features. "Yes. Definitely, yes."

* * *

><p><em>And so we end this fanfic at the beginning of their relationship - or, as Hermione put it, friendship. This was actually an idea I came up with when our teacher was absent and we had a free period instead. I had nothing to do, one thing led to another, and poof! The first part was written in the space of 45 minutes. -grins-<em>

_Hopefully all of you Dramione fans enjoyed this little drabble... This is one of my favorite stories I'd written; maybe the fact that it features Draco and Hermione is what makes it good in my eyes... _

_And so, to show your appreciation to this author who slaved away in front of the computer, ignoring her mother's threats that her eyes would be damaged and finally finishing off this fic within - let's see - two days, not to mention school and homework, of course, **PRESS THE DAMN BLUE BUTTON PLACED BELOW MY NAME THAT READS: "REVIEW THIS STORY"!**_

_Bianca tabbycat_


End file.
